Pulp
by BeholdTheKing
Summary: Stephanie has left the family business and is in need of a change. She finds herself as a character from one of her favourite novels working for Paul, a private detective with a past in the FBI he is trying to forget. Her willingness against Paul's wishes to find a teenage runaway will make them face fears, fight feelings and give him a chance of redemption. HHH/Steph AU
1. Chapter 1

Stephanie dipped her head back into the water until she felt the porcelain enamel of the bath. Her eyes were closed, her lungs losing air and her mouth wide open screaming the frustration and the anger away. It had become her post-interview routine and she didn't like it. She was drowning and instead of a lifesaver she was getting more water. She came out of the water gasping for air. Her deep breaths echoed in the neat room, the shadows of the candles dancing on the walls. It had been her second interview this month. The sixth since she had handed in her resignation. She had made the mistake of postponing the search for a new job until after she would no longer be under contract with her father. Loyalty, she had thought then; foolish move fitted better as the caption now.

She reached for the book resting on the counter and set herself back in the bath. 'The Last Resort' read the title, a desperate woman had ended up in the office of a rough private detective. Stephanie loved the noir aura, the quick dialogue and the hundred different ways the protagonist could describe a pair of legs. 'The fine space between her legs was a highway to sin'. If anyone said something like that to her she would leave her hand print on their face, unless it came from Dick Hammer, she would probably challenge him asking if his car was powerful enough to drive on it. Her guilty pleasure, pulp and crime novels were far from literature but gave her exactly what she was looking for. She needed to stay away from anything that made her question her choices in life because now there was no possibility for retractions. Everything had been said and done between her father and her, she still loved him, but she couldn't go back defeated.

He had questioned her capacity to make it out of the family business, giving her the courage to stand for herself and walk away, proving him wrong on the way. Of course, she had never considered that he could be right. The path she had encountered had been filled with cracks and traps. Every interview had followed the same pattern, more interested in knowing what had happened with her father than in her resume. After the first two interviews she had waited with expectation for their phone calls, but soon she had learnt to identify the signs. They had never been interested in employing her, they just wanted first-hand gossip. They were like a child poking a wounded animal. Probably thinking she was going to bash on her father and give them some magic formula to take him down. It was nonsense, only death could beat her father and even from the afterlife he would have found a way to control the company and make it successful.

Her eyes reached the end of the page and it was then that she realised she hadn't been paying attention, apparently today not even Dick could make her forget the reasons why her life was crumbling. The sound of the phone startled her, she reached for it praying it wasn't her mom. She couldn't take another I-told-you-so, not today. A sense of relief washed over her when she saw the name across the screen.

"How was it?" Alice asked anxious. Their phone conversation after an interview had become the only moment Stephanie would re-live them.

"How do you think?" Stephanie folded the corner of the page she had been on and put the book aside. The water was getting cold, the warm embrace her body had felt before had suddenly left her. She stood up and wrapped a towel around her body, her feet leaving damp impressions on the travertine.

"Hmmm, you did better than you thought and they offered you the job on the spot" Alice rolled her eyes at the snort she heard from the other end of the line.

"They failed to mention the part where I got the job, but I'm sure they meant to."

"When is the next one?" Positive thoughts, that's was Alice's motto. The only reason to look back into the past is to learn from your mistakes and Stephanie wasn't making mistakes in those interviews, Alice knew that much. She was overqualified for most of the positions and probably underestimating herself. But that was probably the consequence of being Vince McMahon's daughter.

"I'm not sure."

"What do you mean you are not sure? You don't have any more arranged?"

"No, yes. I do. It's just." Stephanie let out a deep sigh. She sat down in front of the mirror and started brushing her hair. Tiny drops rolling down her body to die at the towel darkening the pale blue material. " I don't know."

"Steph, you are not making any sense."

"I know, I'm sorry. I guess I'm just tired."

Silence travelled through the signal. Alice decided to change the subject. She had plenty of anecdotes and gossip she had been collecting in the last couple of weeks, she had even make a list. She liked making lists. Stephanie listened absently to the supermarket adventures that Alice was describing, her hand lying close to where the hairbrush rested on the dressing table. Her eyes fixated on her reflection on the mirror, but she didn't recognise herself. Empty, void, like one of those passport pictures taken in a photo booth at a train station, perfect in the form but without soul. And she didn't like the image.

"I want to try something different."

"What?" Alice suspected this had nothing to do with the checkout boy asking to see her ID when she was buying a bottle of olive oil, or even his absurdly stern face as he pointed to the little sign saying 'Alcohol? If you're lucky enough to look under 25 we need to check!'.

"That's why I don't know when my next interview is, because I don't want another one. I want to do something new" Stephanie rose to her feet and slipped her silk dressing gown on. Her smile spread across her face at Alice's words.

"New? Like what?"

"I love dogs, what about dog's hairdresser?"

Alice repeated the job title slowly, hoping Stephanie would realise how stupid it sounded.

"Or maybe something related with dancing, I've always wanted to be a dancer."

Alice was lost for words as she kept listening to more and more ideas, safari photographer was probably her favourite one, considering that time she jumped behind a sofa because a cat hissed at her.

"I don't know what, but I know I have to take a break from the business, I love it and I'll go back to it, but I can't put myself through another humiliating interview." The sound of the curtain rings clacking as she discovered the city view from her living room interrupted her speech for a moment and give her time to order her ideas. "I want something new, an adventure, a challenge, something that gets me excited when I wake up and doesn't make me feel disappointed at the end of the day. Something intriguing"

Alice looked over to her husband, Stephanie's words remanding her of a short conversation they had sometime last week. If he would have suggested it then her answer would have been a resounding laugh, but now the idea seemed more viable than joining Cirque du Soleil. She didn't know Paul properly but he needed help at the office and Stephanie needed a change, working for a private detective could give her all those things she was looking for.


	2. Chapter 2

The fallen leaves tumbled around the pavement making scratching noises, like nature's own warning sirens before a gust blew her hair on her face. Stephanie faced the wind, letting it rake through her strands and raised her eyes to the top of the Empire Tower. She wondered if someone had occupied her old office. She bet it had been that two faced Patrick, always wearing something green to remind everyone that seven generations ago there had been someone Irish in his family, probably thinking that would create a bond with her father. It wasn't like half the city's population didn't have the same in common. The poor soul didn't realise that the only way to impress Vince McMahon was being able to make money. But that was her past, a door that she had closed and as the wind ceased she turned around to face her future.

The five storey building stood in front of her, timeless, the stone had been cleaned bringing out the white it would have worn the day of it's opening more than a century ago. Stephanie reached for the business card she'd been studying for a week, since Alice had given it to her. "Just call him, there is nothing to lose" and Stephanie had made sure she didn't lose it, this was the first opportunity she had ever had to step into a new life. A life that hadn't been planned since she was twelve and her dad had asked her what would she like to do when she grew up. She hadn't doubted, there hadn't been a question in her mind. A huge smile spread across her father's face, she'd never seen him so happy, so proud of her. The rest of her life had been dedicated to seeing that same expression again, but she had lost the ability long ago.

Paul Levesque, PI

Typed in Times New Roman, in the centre of the card, in black. She had looked at it so many times trying to figure him out. Had it been the result of a careful design or could he just not be bothered changing the predefined settings of the word document? On the back of the card, in the middle, just like his name, was a telephone number. She'd had no need to look at the card when she pressed the numbers on her phone last night, they were engrained in her memory. With every ring her heart had beaten faster, she paced around her bedroom, her feet setting a path in the soft carpet from the window to the door. She didn't know what to expect, probably anything but the voice that answer at the other end.  
>"Levesque".<br>His voice was low, deep, like the fourth string of a bass. She opened the window and stood in front of it when the short conversation ended. Her hand traced the string of her nightdress and the plunging neckline over her cleavage. A breeze of cold air came into the room cooling her skin. She bit her bottom lip, there were places it wasn't reaching, places still burning for that voice. Every time she closed her eyes she could feel him behind her, one arm around her stomach holding her close to him, trapped between his chest and the oak office desk. Stephanie's hand reached behind her neck and pulled her hair over her shoulder, mirroring the actions of his hand. His chin rested on the exposed skin and she tilted her head backwards slightly, she could feel the warmth of his mouth on her ear as he whispered.

Stephanie felt the heat rush to her cheeks at the memory, she dipped her head, her eyes concentrating on the irregular pattern the wear and tear had left in the concrete, anything to take him out of her head. She tried to shake the thought of him but she couldn't push him away, the image she had made of him playing back on her mind. He stood in front of her wearing a black suit and shirt. His tousled hair the colour of dark chocolate, square jaw, straight nose and dark, deep eyes, matching his voice. Like Richard Hammer had always looked for her. An urge to find out how much was real rushed through her. Straightening herself she ran a hand over her blouse and skirt before crossing the road.

The modern furniture contrasted against the period features, a grand marble staircase stood in front of her as a centre piece, a row of old fashioned elevators on the mezzanine. Her heels clacked against the mosaic floor as she made her way to the reception area, the wall was covered by names of businesses on brass plaques forming a huge information board. Her eyes travelled over each one, there was a gym and spa on the ground floor, a large number of accounting firms, lawyers, psychologists, doctors... But no private detectives. The feeling of uncertainty she had tried to avoid the whole day started to creep out, she took a step backwards. Her eyes continued to examine the gold coloured signs, her fingers fidgeting to the rhythm of her heart. If this was all a prank she was going to kill Alice, she read the Spa sign again and drew her eyebrows together. It couldn't be, could it? Alice wouldn't have made up a career changing opportunity for an outing to the Spa. Although back in college she had once made Stephanie rush over to her house in the middle of the night because she had forgotten to turn the oven off, only for Stephanie to find a plumber on the kitchen table gyrating to the repetitive beat of dance music blaring from a tinny stereo. It was their last day of college and her friend had decided that a male stripper was the perfect way to celebrate their last night before facing the responsibilities of adulthood.

Stephanie was already planning how she could get away with murder when her eyes spotted a small plate, her eyes widening at the discovery, the dark paint of the letters was long gone, but she could still read the name; LEVESQUE. He must definitely be a man of few words.

She was going to make her way to his office when she felt someone was watching her. Four youthful eyes were staring at her. Stephanie made her way to the reception desk to her right, she wanted to dispel any doubt she had left.

"I'm looking for Paul Levesque?"

The girls exchanged a knowing look and a little giggle.

"The private detective?" At least now she was sure Alice hadn't made him up, Stephanie felt horrible for all the things she had called her during her moments of disbelief. She was developing trust issues, her friend had been nothing but loyal and supportive, she owed her an apology.

"Yes. Is he the same Levesque as the one in 221a?"

They nodded between giggles. Stephanie squinted at the girls, they seemed to go into a fit of laughter every time she said his name, but she didn't have time to find out why.

The laughter and chatter faded as she made her way up the staircase. She clasped her hands together to stop them from shaking, she couldn't remember being this nervous since the eighth grade school play. It was ridiculous. She looked at her reflection in the elevator mirror and fixed her hair, her hands fiddling with the shirt buttons, she closed one, then opened it again. Relax. Closing her eyes, she stretched her arms in front of her, palms facing the mirror and took a deep calming breath, then another one. She wanted to laugh, she wanted to give herself a shake and tell herself to get a grip, she was being insane, but she couldn't help herself. The doors opened, a woman stood at the other side fixing her hair, the deep red dress she was wearing showing wrinkles that didn't match her style. The big smile on her face was almost contagious, but Stephanie already had one of her own. Her heart hammered inside her chest, her feet took her to his office as if they had always known the way. She stood in front of the office door, her hand hovering over the handle, just like opening a new book she told herself.

She turned the first page.


	3. Chapter 3

The venetian blinds cut the sunlight struggling to make its way inside the room, the furniture prisoners of shadow bars. The wooden desk marked with dents, testament of the punishment it had withstood through the years, served sentence in front of the window. Across three of the walls filling cabinets stood like suspects in an identification parade. Over the fourth wall lay a leather sofa framed by a bookcase that run from floor to ceiling, all the way over the sofa and down to the floor again at the other side. A librarian ladder rested at the far end granting access to every file. She felt her heart building to a crescendo as she looked around the room and pressed a hand over her chest trying to lull the agitation her body had fallen into. It was like stepping into a set for a Philip Marlowe film, the only thing missing was a cat outside the window.

Paul stood in the doorway watching her, her eyes were inquisitive, studying the room, examining every little thing he possessed. His eyes were inquisitive too. The wind snickered through the open window transforming the blinds into wind chimes. Stephanie turned around, the sound bringing her back to reality. Her breath caught in her throat, he was looking at her, his eyes were dark, she stayed still, didn't even blink. He didn't look like Philip Marlow, he didn't look like Dick Hammer, but she wasn't disappointed. His shoulders were almost as wide as the doorframe, the sun must have escaped the clouds because a golden brightness illuminated the room behind him. The light reflected in his short blonde hair giving him a glowing halo. She suspected there was nothing angelic about him. He took a hand out of his pocket and invited her to sit down as he walked behind the desk.

"So, tell me Miss McMahon. What made you apply for this position?"  
>Stephanie stared back at him, a confused frown on her face, her mouth slightly parted. She pressed her lips together only to let them apart again. Silence.<p>

"That's a quality we highly appreciate here in Levesque Investigations"

Stephanie felt the muscles of her neck tighten at the mocking tone, she stood up and smoothed her skirt glancing over her shoulder at the door. Her hand raked through her hair as she turned to look at Paul again. He hadn't moved, hadn't even changed his expression, one lopsided smirk as if the right side of his face had been paralyzed. His eyes nailed on hers, not minding that they weren't staring back at him. Until they did. Eyes like steel, cold and hard. And the smirk lost strength.

"Look, I came here because Alice said you needed help, but I don't have time for jokes." It seemed like déjà vu and she wasn't going to sit quietly and smile while another assho... Another suited up guy made fun of her. It didn't matter the way his arms folded as he rested them in the desk confining his biceps inside the grey fabric of his suit or how his voice, deeper than she remembered, had reverberated in her chest. She turned around and walked towards the door. Paul stood up and stretched an arm above the desk trying to grab her, the distance too wide.

"Wait!" Stephanie stopped and turned around slowly, one hand on her hip, the other one rolling circles in the air, inviting him to explain himself. Paul cleared his throat and pressed his lips together.

"Ok, you don't appreciate jokes. Point taken."

He was going to kill Martin, he had never expected he would actually send him a girl when he suggested he should employ someone for the front desk. It wasn't like the interview was necessary; if he didn't employ her Martin would screw him out of the deal with his buffet. Business wasn't at its highest peak and he couldn't afford to lose another client, less a client who paid far too much for a simple background check, and to be honest, he could do with some help. God knows how many clients he'd lost because he wasn't here when they came or he hadn't answered their messages. He motioned for Stephanie to take back her place in the chair. She didn't move, both hands on her hips.

He took a deep breath. The woman had an attitude, great. It was going to be wonderful working with her. He took a look at her legs and stopped himself from smiling, they seemed to go on forever, the skirt hiding far too much for his liking, but it was business after all. She had already showed him enough with the red sole of her heels. She could look pretty well on his reception desk. He noticed how she was rubbing the back of her shoes together and took pity on her.

"I'm sorry."

Stephanie didn't want to trust him. This had been a mistake, what had she been thinking? She had been reading far too many books the last few weeks, clouding her mind and not letting her see sense. She didn't need to work for a guy who by the look of his clothes spent the nights sleeping in his car or on the coach behind her and in a place where piles of files were scattered across the floor like landmines. She should be managing her old department, staying late to discuss business with her brother and how crazy their father was. Instead she was in a 1960's private eye's office trying to bring an old fantasy to life. She should leave.

"I really am" the throaty voice travelled through the room. His eyes where soft, almost tender, no twinkle of mischief, just honesty. She couldn't make out the colour in the distance but they were lighter than her first impression. She took a step closer.

"I've never conducted an interview before. Thought a joke would break the ice"

Stephanie's features softened as she smiled, not taking her eyes off his. Were they caramel? She couldn't leave without finding out.

"I'll do the questions then." She took her seat back and licked her lips, definitely caramel. "Don't look like that, it doesn't hurt."

Paul fell down to his chair, it was his turn to frown, mouth slightly parted too and silence.

It felt like reciting the times tables. He didn't remember them, he had never done a list of the services he offered. People phoned him and he decided if their problem was interesting enough or if he needed the money. He tried to think about the cases he was following now.

Sarah Milton, a wife wanting to know if the late office meetings had anything to do with her husband's assistant.  
>Evelyn Peace was hoping his twenty years younger wife would be having some extra fun with the yoga instructor, the only way he would get a divorce without costing him half his value.<br>There were also all those background checks that bored him to death. That was something he could make her do. After all, it wasn't more than entering a name on the computer and let the program do most of the work. Facebook had made this job much easier, everyone wanted to share even the tiniest thing, thinking no one would go back and check. If she found something interesting he could take over and go talk to a real person instead of a screen.  
>That reminded him of another one he'd been doing more lately, finding out if an internet sweetheart was real. He couldn't understand why people couldn't just go out and meet people. Sure, he wasn't the most sociable, but that was his decision, he didn't hide behind a keyboard pretending to be something else, he did it face to face.<br>He also did search for misplaced items and whoever took them when the police couldn't be involved. Archibald Eaton had a horrible Maltese Falcon statuette reckoned it was worth more than his life. The damn figurine didn't even exist officially, it had been lost long time ago. Paul found it ironic.

She should have tried to mask her disappointment. She was looking around the office trying to find something interesting, she wouldn't. His job was dull, no question about it, but somehow it consumed his life. If people could stop picturing Humphrey Bogart when he talked about his job or one of those television shows where a PI was a consultant for the Police they wouldn't feel let down.

"You don't seem thrilled"

Stephanie's thin smile was almost apologetic; it annoyed him. He remembered why he didn't want anyone working here with him, by the looks of it she wasn't going to. He had chosen this life, no need to feel sorry for him.

"It's not that. I just, didn't know what to expect."

Stephanie observed him, he looked happy, like if he had managed to achieve something. That's what made her think his job wasn't as bad as he was trying to paint it. She had notice the slight increase in the tone of his voice when he described the mysteries in each case. Was he cheating? Was she who she said she was? Where was the Falcon? Who had taken it? There was a need to find out, an itch that Stephanie could feel growing deep within her. She didn't know the people he was listing, but she wanted to solve the puzzles. She could go back home and do it bringing the dry ink of her books to life, or she could be the one writing the story, living it without filters.

"Don't you have any questions?"

About her? No. His fingertips traced the handle of the top drawer where her picture was hiding. It had been taken a couple of years ago in some fundraising act. She was dancing with her brother, smiling, her hair fanning out as she moved her head. He had the impulse to print it when he found it. Just an attachment to her file, a visual aid to identify her. Nothing else. With it were a copy of her driver's license, her grades, the positions she held at her father's company and the name of a couple of ex-boyfriends. He hadn't dug very deep, just scratched the surface to get a general idea of the woman now sitting in front of him. Nondescript was the word that came to his mind while he was collecting the information. She had good grades, but never top of her class, she had different roles at the company but only got into executive position last year after climbing up the ladder. She had had a couple of parking fines and a speeding one, all paid on time. He hadn't even bothered researching the two male names, one had been a college boyfriend, the other one was history soon after getting her promotion. Nothing exciting, not even in her internet shopping records. No hidden vices. No naughty orders.

Although he had been wrong, there was one question that had been set on his mind. The one thing he knew he couldn't find out unless he asked her.

"Why did you leave?"

Stephanie shifted in her seat. Her eyes focusing on the irregular pattern the grain of the wood made. The desk was tidy in comparison with the rest of the office, only a paper folder and a couple of pens scattered over the large surface.

"Leave what?" Her voice just above a whisper. Why on earth was she asking? She already knew what he meant. She didn't want to have this conversation, it was none of his business. She straightened her shoulders and spoke before he could give her the answer, she didn't want to hear it. "I don't know how that is relevant."

And the attitude was back. It was a mixture between spoiled brat and an instinct to protect herself from exposure. He pressed two fingers against his lips concealing his amusement.

"How do I know you are not going to do the same to me?"

Vulnerable wasn't a word she would have ever thought that fitted in his description, but that was just how he'd sounded. It was a shame, Stephanie didn't buy into the act.

"Well, that depends on you." He moved forward in his chair and tilted his head, she could she a smile threatening to escape his lips, but he wouldn't let it. She had the feeling he liked being defied. "Are you going to give me a reason to go?"

He should have shaken his head and moved into contractual matters, but he had never been good at remaining quiet. He leaned in closer, arms stretched against the dark wood. Stephanie placed a hand in the edge of the desk to stop her from matching his movement. His gaze darkened and the husky tone of his voice made the hairs at the back of her neck stand like serpents dancing to a mystical tune.

"I will only give you reasons to come"


	4. Chapter 4

Stephanie's head snapped up at the sound of the door opening, Paul shambled into his office cursing under his breath without even acknowledging her. She hadn't seen him in more than a week. If he had been coming to the office it had been after her hours were finished. And she knew he had been here, she was left to tidy the mess he normally left behind. Scrawled pieces of paper appeared on her desk telling her what to do. Print pictures, organise files, write reports. The latest being the one she feared the most. Having to make something intelligible out of his scrawled records, for the clients to get proof that their money had been well spent, was her most challenging task. And that was exactly what she had been doing this morning.

Evelyn Peace was getting bad news, his lovely wife was loyal and apparently in love with him. That was the conclusion Paul had reached after following her for two months. She went back to her notes, on Wednesday the 17th she had spent three hours looking for the perfect tie to match a shirt. She had found one with little details in the same tone as the cotton. Stephanie wasn't sure if it was dedication or boredom that had incited Rachel Peace to go round the whole city looking for the perfect accessory. She had tried herself to do something similar, looking for the perfect cuff links for her dad's fifty-fifth birthday, after an hour of searching, all the samples had seemed to morph together. She ended up buying a new set of golf clubs. But her mind wasn't thinking about that, she was thinking about the new case she had agreed to take yesterday, she needed to talk to Paul about it.

The rattling sounds and the loud cursing that came from the adjoining room caught Stephanie's attention. She stealthily approached the door of his office, he hadn't closed it. A soft push opened it just enough for her to see Paul. He was standing in front of one of the filing cabinets, his head sinking in the second drawer, it didn't contain any files. Stephanie took a step closer trying not to disturb him. She felt like Inspector Clouseau.

Paul turned around at the sound of the creaking wood underneath her feet. The carpet muted the clacking of her heels but failed to hide the pressure in the boards. That's when she noticed the deep purple bruise around his right eye.

"What the hell happened?"

"What the hell happened? What the hell have you done with my pills?" The angry tone made Stephanie flinch, but she composed herself and stood next to him. He reeked of stale wine. Oh god. Had he gotten into a drunken fight? She hoped it hadn't been reported if that was the case.

She placed a hand over his arm and turned him around slowly. His eye was swollen, his eyelids closing down, leaving only a slit for him to look through. Stephanie pointed to the medicine cabinet she had bought a couple of weeks ago resting on top of a file storage in the corner. Paul brushed past her. He rested his head against the door for a moment before opening it, the heat of his skin transferring into the white coated metal. It was then she realised he had his left arm was clutched against his stomach.

Stephanie thought about getting him some water, but he beat her to it. Sort off. He popped the pills in his mouth and took a swing of the first bottle he grabbed, whiskey. Stephanie wrapped her arms around her body. He sat in the sofa and let the bandages and other first aid items fall on the coffee table. He rested his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes.

"Paul?" A groan was the only answer he gave her.

"There is something I want to talk you about" she took the second groan as her cue to continue.

"Jack and Wendy Edwards came by yesterday, they've been leaving messages for a week. They are worried their daughter Charlotte—"

"Steph... Not now, please" Paul interrupted her, his voice rasped, the sounds straggling to make their way past his throat. He brought both hands to his head and pressed the palms against his forehead.

It was then that Stephanie spotted the crimson stains on the front of his shirt and left cuff. Paul opened an eye when he felt her sitting beside him, the light burning his pupil like the rays of the sun through glass burn dry leaves. He blinked hard and opened the other eye too, slowly, letting them adjust to the brightness. Turning his head towards her he watched her every move. She grabbed his arm, rolled the sleeve up and examined the cuts, holding his upper arm in her left hand. Her touch was warm, tender and if his head didn't hurt that damn much he would have said comforting. The smell of alcohol filled the room as soon as she opened the small bottle, covering the scent of her perfume. Paul hadn't had enough time to notice it; they had never been this close before.

"What happened?"

Stephanie picked a couple of cotton balls and soaked them in the alcohol before cleaning the wounds, the blood dying the fibres in bright red. She felt the muscles in his arm tense at the contact while saying with apparent calm "Milton". She pressed her lips together trying to stop a smile, he never let his guard down.

"You caught him with the assistant?"

He had caught him, but not with the petite blonde. Paul had followed him to a hidden club with neon letters above a small metal door spelling Peacocks. The doorman had given the private detective an appreciative look that made him uncomfortable, but he guessed it would avoid problems with the girls. He had been wrong. There weren't any girls to get in trouble with.

"Let's say he wasn't just having something on the side, he's changed his tastes completely"

"What are you talking about?" Stephanie put the antiseptic down and let go of his arm.

"Sorry, I shouldn't be beating around the bush, funnily enough he wasn't either" He should be a stand up comedian, the hours were definitely better and the risk of being beaten up by cheating bastards minimum.

"Paul, what does any of that mean?"

"He's gay" Paul ignored her shocked expression and held the end of the bandage she had let go of. He continued to explain how trying to get a good picture had gotten him exposed. Milton had grabbed a bottle of Chardonnay and tried to smash it into Paul's head after a heated conversation. The bottle broke against his arm, the sharp glass tearing fabric and flesh. The liquor soaked his clothes. He didn't have time to cover himself when a punch was thrown before the shattered bottle reached the floor. They had thrown him out of the club and kept the camera, good thing he had grabbed the memory card as soon as the confrontation started.

"Well, that means another cracked case" Stephanie said as she drummed a little tune on her thighs out of excitement, this was the moment she had been waiting for. "Now you have time for new clients."

Paul examined her nursing work. He had to admit that it wasn't bad at all. But he wished she would stay quiet for a minute, he could still feel the blood beating in his head. But his silence only gave Stephanie encouragement to continue.

"A couple came by yesterday. Their story is heartbreaking. Two weeks ago their eighteen year old daughter disappeared..."

Her voice trailed off when he stood up in an abrupt manner.

"I don't do missing people"

Stephanie rose to her feet and followed her boss across the room.

"But Paul, they're—"

"I said no. No. Missing. People." His voice was dark, angry. "Do you understand?"

"At least listen to their story!" Stephanie couldn't believe Paul's stubbornness. What sort of private detective didn't look for missing people? That's the main thing they are known for, apart from catching cheating partners.

Paul stood in front of the window, his palm pressing against his forehead trying to suppress the returning headache. Every word she spoke drilling into his head. He didn't care about how worried the parents were, why the girl had stopped contacting them or where she was. It was an eighteen year old collage girl who had probably realised the career she had chosen wasn't for her and the embarrassment of confessing her mistakes had been too much to face. Therefore she had chosen to run away and break contact with her family, she would go back home when she found herself with no money or came back to her senses. No need for him to interfere.

Stephanie felt a sharp pain in her palms. Her nails had dug into the flesh leaving red marks.

"You are being irrational, they need our help!" Stephanie was trying to keep calm, but the words came out as a plea. She needed to make him understand, if he would listen to her he would change his mind.

"NO! I don't like repeating myself. Drop it."

Stephanie wanted to answer him, to explain how she had already told them they would help. How could she phone back and say they couldn't? Her muscles felt sore. She could not have him in her sight any longer.

The loud bang of the closing door was the last thing Paul heard, after that it was just silence. At last. He let out a calming breath as he sat at his desk. The memory card between his fingers felt like having a man's destiny in the palm of his hand. There was still work to be done.

Stephanie wrapped her arms around herself as she walked down the road, she hadn't even taken her jacket, the summer had left the city weeks ago and the cold wind made the skin in her arms bristle. Her pace quickened every time she thought about him and before she knew it she was standing outside the coffee shop.

A month working for Paul had been long enough to regain her caffeine addiction; the search for the perfect cafe had started on her second day after he had asked for an old file. It had taken her more than two hours to find the freaking document. The need for caffeine and a break had sent her in search of the perfect place. She'd found it just last week. It was cosy and trendy, but without that elitist atmosphere some of the other places had. The small different rooms made it homely and the paintings of local artist changed the style every week. But the most important thing was the coffee, smooth and deep if you had it black and silky and aromatic if you chose a cappuccino.

The scent of homemade baking surrounded her when she stepped inside. She sat at a table next to the window, a black and white photograph of some children playing in a fountain hung in the wall in front of her. A little girl smiled as an older boy splashed water around. She took a sip of her spicy latte and looked over to the next photograph. A young boy lay down on a park bench covered by newspapers, her mind drifted back to Charlotte, what could have made her run away without any explanation?

Even Stephanie had left a note when she decided, age fourteen, that she couldn't live under the same roof as her father and hid in her best friend's house. When she went back home her dad had shouted and yelled, his face had been red, the vein on his neck ready to burst and his arms moved without control. She had never seen him that angry before. The tears reached her mouth, she tried to press her lips together but still could remember the salty flavour, that same taste had come back on the few occasions her dad had gotten angry again.

But her mom had been a completely different story. Her eyes had been puffy and red, the wrinkles around them deeper than ever. She hadn't said a word, she hadn't even made a noise as she hugged Stephanie and cried in silence.

That day Stephanie realised the loved her mother had for her. All the pain she had caused bore into her soul with the uncontrollable shaking of her mom's body as she sobbed. She couldn't explain why, but after that every missing persons sign had taken her attention and she had seen a mother suffering as hers did, bringing back that uncomfortable feeling in her stomach.

Now she had the opportunity to help Mrs Edwards and she wasn't going to let her obstinate boss get in the way. He had the experience, the means and the knowledge, but he couldn't be bothered to use them. Well then, Stephanie would. She had access to everything she needed, he had taught her how to use the background check programs and all the surveillance equipment came with instructions. She didn't need him.

She was going to find Charlotte and take her back to her family, where she belonged. How complicated could it be?

Very.


	5. Chapter 5

The blade tore into his side, the sharp pain shot through his body knocking him down on his knees, his palms flat against the dirty concrete. Paul pulled out the knife and threw it into the night, the little energy he had left went away with the effort, the metallic weapon tumbled in the pavement. The clacking noise was covered by the sound of a car rumbling in the distance. His body collapsed against the hard floor, the heat the concrete had absorbed during the day wasn't enough to warm his body. The muscles around his throat retracted at the stifling smell of dust, an invisible hand pressed on his neck, squeezing, making every breath a challenge. A cold sweat covered his body, he felt tiny drops tricking down his spine. The piercing pain made him shiver and his hand pressed against the wound. He fought hard to keep his eyes open, he couldn't give up now, he was so close to finding her. Reality started to slip away when an emergency bell rang behind him. Maybe this wasn't his end after all, someone was coming to help him, he could hear her voice.

The vivid light blinded him as he tried opening his eyes, the pain had become sharper. He blinked and looked down at his stomach, the bleeding had stopped. He blinked again, hard. There was no trace of the blood that had covered his white shirt a moment ago. What was happening? Paul shifted and reached underneath him, his hand retrieved the sharp object causing the pangs. He grabbed behind him, the soft material helping him sit up felt like a leather cushion.

Wait. Cushion? He was in a back alley a moment ago. He rubbed his eyes and looked around. The office furniture came into focus, the sunlight revealing shining dust motes dancing around the room. His hand held a bent American Express. He let out a sigh of relief. It was the third day in a row he had fallen sleep at work, the dreams were getting worse. He tried to get up but his back wouldn't allow it, the muscles sore and stiff.

He heard her voice again. He better make sure she knew he was there, there was no need for another scene like yesterday's. Stephanie had walked into the office and gone straight to get a file. She hadn't seen him lying in the sofa. Paul stood up at the same time that she turned around to leave. The walls were unable to contain the scream, the files jumped out of her hands, pages flew around her. He froze for a moment, like a deer startled by a distant gunshot, briefly paralysed before running for dear life. He should have run away too. She had cursed him and shouted all sorts of profanities; Paul had flopped onto the sofa in a fit of laughter that only made her angrier.

He sat at the edge of the couch and cracked his neck. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept in his bed. Rachel had taken advantage of Marcus' work trip and kept Paul locked in her bedroom the whole weekend. He hadn't complained. But his little escapade had taken its toll on the follow up of the cases. He had been ignoring Archie for days, he needed to go down to his estate and interview the staff, in these sort of cases the culprit was always an inside man. But the little Falcon would have to wait its turn, first he had to make sure his secretary had done the backgrounds. Assistant. He had referred to her as his secretary for the first week, it took Stephanie eight days to give him a lecture on the differences between the jobs and the implications of the titles. Every now and then he still used the word for his own amusement, only in presence of clients, when she couldn't rip his head off.

She held her free hand up when he approached her desk. At the other end of the phone a man described his missing dog for the sixth time, she had already explained to him that they couldn't help, but he wouldn't accept it. Stephanie wanted to hang up, but now he was crying and she couldn't bring herself to do it. She had a list of animal shelters on her computer screen that could give him better support than her, but she hadn't got a chance to name them.

Paul sat on the corner of her desk and started playing with the documents she had spread across the wooden surface. He kept his expression serious, brow slightly furrowed in concentration. She slapped his hand when she saw him picking and mixing the files, he looked at her, eyes wide opened, like a little boy surprised of being told off for painting on the walls. He continued his antics when she turned to read the listed names. She mouthed "Stop it" but he didn't. A thin vertical line appeared between her eyebrows, her stormy blue eyes bore into him. He loved the way the colour changed with her emotions, like Turner's palette of blues. She covered the microphone with her hand and hissed "Stop it! I've been trying to hang up on this guy for ten minutes! I'm almost there!"

Paul reached across and snatched the telephone out of her hands.

"Levesque speaking. Sorry, but I need my secretary's assistance." He was going to hang up when he saw Stephanie's pleased expression. "You can always phone back later."

"Why would you do that? Do you know how many times I've had to listen to how beautiful his Kerry Blue Terrier is? And how people always think he's a Schnauzer, because his hair has gone grey, but if you look at his long neck there would be no doubt? And how his bad temper is another sign, but he wouldn't trade him for all the money in the world?..."

Paul stared at her as she continued rambling. He was getting quite good at not listening to women but her voice was different, there was something that if he wasn't careful could captivate him. That's why he used to sing to himself, the first verses of 'Love me like a reptile' played in his head. He switched back to her station, it was less dangerous.

"...And if he phones again I'll have to hear it all again! And don't get me wrong, I feel for him. I still remember the day that Rocky, our dog, went missing, I was only seven and I cried all night... But that doesn't change the fact that knowing how his eyes shine when he smells bacon isn't going to make me be able to help him. So please, explain it to me, why would you do that? "

"Hanging up? Because I like having you all to myself. Telling him to phone back? Because if you're on the phone there are fewer chances you'll be nagging me."

One. Two. Three.

Inhale.

One. Two. Three.

Exhale.

She couldn't let him get to her, not today. She needed to persuade him to help her whether he liked it or not, but she couldn't just ask for it, it had to be subtle. Charlotte was still missing and all her tracks had reached dead ends. She had stolen all the tricks she could from Dick Hammer, but reality was writing a different story.

Mr. and Mrs. Edward's description of Charlotte as a normal teenager differed from the image Stephanie had after visiting her college bedroom. Harold Lloyd struggled to keep his grab on the clock hands as he dangled over the moving traffic at the top of a skyscraper above the bed. On top of the chest of drawers worn copies of Alice's adventures in Wonderland and The Chronicles of Narnia mixed with her degree course books. The drawers were full of clothes, toothbrush and phone charger still in place, nothing was missing, everything appeared to be in place, except for an empty space in a photo frame.

In a desperate move she had taken the teenager's laptop but it was password protected, completely useless. She had spoken with Charlotte's classmates, the dorm's concierge and even the janitor. She had even agreed on a date to get a copy of the security cameras for the week the girl went missing. The last time anyone had seen her had been a Tuesday two weeks ago. It didn't look good. Police drama had taught her that the first twenty four hours were critical, no-one had realised Charlotte was missing until Thursday. There hadn't been any phone calls asking for money and it didn't look like she had been planning to run away. She had nothing, no leads to follow. Wendy had called again, every time they spoke Stephanie had the feeling they were hiding something from her.

She tried a smile, her lips pressed together, but the eyes were too concerned with checking him over to join in. He looked horrible. The edges of his usually neatly trimmed beard blurred with the rough stubble growing around it, the back of his jacket was scrunched up like the folds of an accordion and half the collar was up. He must have fallen sleep as soon as he got here.

"You slept on the sofa again"

"No shit Sherlock. Maybe we should change the name to McMahon Investigations."

One. Two. Three...

"What I mean is... Maybe, you need some help outside the office"

Paul left the document he had been playing with. The words 'outside the office' had caught his interest.

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe you should take me out with you?"

Paul's eyes widened in surprise,

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"What?! No! I would never. No. Why would you think something like that? Definitely never."

Jeez, she didn't need to be so adamant about it. Not that he had any intention of asking her out, he would have to kiss her just to shut her up. A smile spread across his face. Now, that was a nice image, Stephanie shutting up. If only.

"What I mean is..." She took a deep breath, she had to remain calm, not give him any indication of her eagerness. "You could use my help when you go out investigating or whatever it is you private detectives do."

Stephanie crossed her arms over her chest and looked away lifting her chin at the sound of his laughter.

"What makes you think you could be of any help? You don't even know what I do."

She knew well what he did. Surveillance, bad questioning and spending a great deal of money in losing microphones and GPS trackers. She had seen his accounts.

"This would only benefit you. There isn't much left to do in the office apart from answering the phone, you are paying me for reading novels."

She had a point there, in a month she had managed to organise an office he had been disorganising for the last five years. He kept giving her more work, but she seemed to thrive on it. The more he asked from her the better she performed. What he could do was reduce her hours, which would save him money and had the benefit of not having to put up with her. Although that would be unfair, he did quite enjoy her company.

"Have we got something new?"

Stephanie stood up to have a better view of the mess he had done. Paul didn't let his disappointment show, he had been admiring the extra opened button on her blouse. It was like looking down the rabbit's hole into wonderland. He had to be careful, nothing good would come from falling through it.

"Yes." Rearranging the dossiers she had put together she handed him the first folder. "You've got three new cheaters and..." Her voice trailed off as she held onto the only file he hadn't taken into account. She knew this was good, she wanted his full attention. His eyes slowly met hers when he felt her silence, her expression had changed, her eyes were intense, the glint of excitement brightening the colour. His eyes travelled downwards to the cream folder she had clenched against her chest. He freed his hands dropping those dull cases back were the came from.

"Gimme." It was almost a growl, his stare intense, like a predator sizes up its prey.

She hid the document behind her back and shook her head, her face breaking into a smirk. She was going to enjoy this, being in control.

"Martin phoned. It's one of his clients."

He moved around her desk, she responded by stepping backwards.

"I've already done the background check."

He held out a hand, his expression didn't change, voice low.

"Stephanie?" The authoritarian implications of his deep tone made her stomach fluster.

She bit her bottom lip, placed the report in his hand and watched him intently as he skipped through the pages. The back of her shoes rubbed together.

He scratched his beard and cleared his throat before speaking.

"This is... You put this together?" She nodded and kept a straight face, but the glow in her eyes was giving her away. "You even got the phone records? How did you manage that?"

Her fingers played with the fallen leaves of the potted plant in the windowsill as she rested her body against it. She tried to sound nonchalant, her shoulders shrugged with indifference.

"One of the call centre girls had been posting about her cheating ex. I asked for her assistance. Pretended to be a wife concerned about her husband's faithfulness."

Paul just nodded his head and kept flicking through the archive. He should praise her work and tell her how impressed he was, but he was lost for words. Everything had been done with extreme care. There were pictures of the subject, Leonard Fritz, and a detailed summary of his life; where he was born, places he lived, schools, college and the university he attended, jobs he'd had, a listing of friends and relatives... Nothing had escaped her. Paul closed the folder and found his voice again.

"What do we have to find out?"

Stephanie ignored the excitement and bit down the smile threatening to escape every time he said "we".

"He's been accused of paying someone to kill his business partner. Martin thinks he's hiding something."

Paul looked back at the information his secre— assistant had given him, his first guess would be a mistress, but he wasn't married. The call log corresponded to the day Leonard had supposedly hired the services of a hit man. The sound of a beeper made Paul's train of thoughts derail. The GPS tracker was showing Ashton Manning's car approaching the flat of his 'personal trainer'. It was twenty minutes away, if he wanted to catch them he couldn't waste any time.

He threw the camera bag in the passenger seat and drove off. Last time a car accident had made the journey thirty minutes longer than expected. He had arrived to see Ashton's SUV driving past him. He turned right and spotted the four-by-four parked down the road, he had him this time. The beeper went off again. Alisha Jones' car had entered Orbital Inc.'s car park, main competitors of the company she worked for.

Paul had been waiting weeks for it to happen and now he was at the other end of town, standing on the hood of his car trying to grab a fire escape ladder. If only he had the gift of bilocation.

He grabbed the bottom of the ladder and slid it down at the same time a name passed his mind. He didn't like being wrong but he liked it less when she was right. He jerked the ladder down with anger, the rattling noise anything but soothing. There must be another way.

The GPS tracker went off. That bleeping sound again.


	6. Chapter 6

"So, are you going to tell me anything?"Alice took a ship of her coffee and closed her eyes, her friend was right, this was probably the best coffee she ever had. She wasn't that much into all the arty stuff, but the croissants melted in your mouth like butter and she was going to need an extra workout if she wasn't careful.

"About what?" Stephanie couldn't help the smile that adorned her face every time she thought about him, but she was trying to sound detached.

"Don't play it innocent with me, I know you. And I want to know it all about him."

"Where to start..." A sip of her cappuccino took her to the day she had met him. "He's funny, kind, intelligent..."

"Handsome?" Alice tried to encourage her, it was taking her too long to describe the guy.

"Very." She pushed the cup by the handle in a circular motion making it rotate on the saucer. "Blonde hair, green eyes, perfect smile." That was an understatement, his eyes were deep and bright at the same time and crinkled at the corners with his smile, making those adorable dimples appear on his cheeks. Stephanie let go of the coffee cup and leaned forward. "Have I told you about his hair? Blonde, shiny and soft like silk. The way he rakes his finger through it and it falls back... I don't think I have words to describe it." It was like the sea caressing the beach, but she wouldn't tell her that.

"What does he do for a living?"

"He's a vet" Stephanie couldn't hold her wide grin. "You know how I am with animals and he looks so cute holding a puppy."

Her friend sounded smitten with this new man, but she always did at the beginning. The question was if he could keep her interested long enough.

"What about kittens, does he look as cute?"

"Not bad I guess." Stephanie sat back in the chair, her lips pursed in a small pout. "God, cats hate me. On our second date he had to go back to the clinic, there was an emergency with a penguin." She waved her hand dismissively and continued after having another taste of the perfect cappuccino. "In the end it was nothing, but he asked me to go with him and he showed me around the clinic. The dogs were lovely, oh! they had a beautiful English bulldog called Max, so gorgeous, I wanted to take him home." A waitress passed by, taking away the empty pastry plates and bringing the conversation to an unintentional pause. "Anyway. Then we entered the cats section... Oh Alice, those beasts started growling and hissing at me. Their backs arched, their teeth bared, the works." Stephanie's hands jammed underneath her arms. "It was terrifying, those animals hate me. Ian said it was probably the smell of dog, but I could see that even he was surprised."

Alice hummed in agreement but was sure Stephanie was exaggerating, she would bet it was her doing the hissing and growling and not the animals. There was hate between them, but she thought the source was human...

"Have you seen Dr. Dolittle again?"

Stephanie breathed out her in frustration.

"Only for coffee, I've been really busy at work, there is this case..." She trailed off when she realised what she was doing, she couldn't tell Alice, she would tell her husband and Martin would tell Paul and he would kick her out of the office and she'd miss any chance she had of finding Charlotte.

"What case? I though he only let you do paperwork"

Stephanie studied her empty coffee cup, tiny dregs of coffee beans were left inside. She should switch to Turkish coffee, then she could read the future in the grounds sitting at the bottom. Wouldn't it be wonderful? To read the future and see where Charlotte was? Maybe talking to Alice wasn't such a bad idea, she was always good at giving advice. Having someone to discuss the case with could help her.

"You can't tell anyone, not even Martin."

"Pinky promise."

"No, this is serious. If Paul finds out... You didn't see him when I asked."

"Steph, what's going on?"

"There is this girl... Paul doesn't want to take the case."

Her phone moved on the table with the vibrations, his name flashed across the screen. Her eyes searched the room, her heart jumping in her chest, the blood beating in her ears. If she had ever seen a sign from heaven this was it.

"Hello?" Her voice trembled as she answered.

"You want to help outside the office? Get your pretty ass down here."

The wheels scrunched against the gravel, a row of trees stood guard at each side of the driveway, the stone building awaited at the end of the white path. It stood three storeys tall, the windows were kept behind metal bars and the notched parapet gave the large house a fortress look.

Paul was standing at the bottom of the stairs, for a moment she thought he was coming to open her door, but he went to the passenger's side and stepped inside the car.

"What took you so long?" He lifted his hand when she opened her mouth to answer. "Actually, don't. Or we'll be here all day."

Stephanie grabbed the steering wheel tighter, she wanted to control herself, bite her tongue, swallow her pride and ignore him. He was infuriating.

"You are a dick, you know that?"

His smug smirk made Stephanie want to smack it out of his face. Sometimes she wandered why she was still working for him.

"Of course I do. I even have a card that says so."

He picked one of his business cards from his pocket and handed it to her.

Stephanie grabbed the stiff paper and furrowed her brow in confusion. Her eyes settled on the initials "P.I.". All those crime novels had educated her in fifties slang.

She tried to scowl at him but it was difficult not to smile. If he so gladly accepted the word she had all the intentions of using it.

"Ok Dick. What I'm I doing here?"

The dimples on his cheeks almost reached his eyes with his smile, he chomped loudly on his gum and reached the inside pocket of his jacket.

"I got you a present."

Stephanie struggled to keep her balance as she walked the short distance to the staircase, her stilettos missing the small rounded stones like a cue stick misses the white ball, it was frustrating and embarrassing. Paul's shoulders shock with his silent laugh, he wouldn't risk getting caught. When her foot wobbled again making her lose balance his hands reached and grabbed her. He didn't let go until she was in steady ground. Stephanie's voice was quiet as she thanked him, her eyes looked everywhere but at him. She held on to the stone banister as she made her way up, every other step a sharp breath escaped her. She forced a bright smile as she approached their client.

He ignored the knowing look Archie was giving him as he explained to Stephanie when his favourite figurine had disappeared. No doubt the dirty bastard was dying to make some comment about her. But Stephanie was off limits for both of them, for Archie because she was way out of his league, for himself because they worked together. She came with a 'do not touch' sign, just like those Greek sculptures Archie prided himself on. He would admire her from behind the red cord.

The musky smell of the old books mixed with the aroma from an open box of Cuban cigars beside a large armchair. The fading carpet was still soft, padding her steps. Across the room, on top of the mantelpiece the Maltese Falcon rested after coming back home from its adventure. Stephanie held the heavy statue, the black coating was scratched at the bottom, two thin lines of its golden substance shining through. Paul had found it before it went out in a private auction. Whoever was organising it didn't have a clue where it had been nesting or they wouldn't have invited Archibald to participate. Disappointment and anger had crossed the faces of the participants when the auctioneer had announced the cancelation of the most popular item.

But whoever thought they were setting the bird free hadn't dined out on their accomplishments and the word in the street was it had been an aficionado. Paul didn't like trusting the word of a thief, but if the close circle of white collars weren't claiming the work it was probably one of Archie's employees. He had already interviewed them when it happened, a long time had passed, but he thought it would be a good start for Stephanie.

Her fingers curled around the "present" Paul had described as her first detective device, the black ink was smooth rolling over the paper, her writing shaky. She grabbed the pen harder trying to stop the trembling. She pressed the clip down like her boss had shown her, an LED screen flashed at the top end before vanishing in the curved surface indicating the recording had started and her questions should follow.

"Milk?"

Stephanie nodded and watched the older woman pour the coffee. Her hair was pulled back in a tidy bun and painted with the same colours as the clouds that covered the sky outside the window. The crows feet wrinkles had set in her thin skin and grew deeper and longer every time she smiled. Her fingers felt cold when she handed Stephanie her cup. Margaret sat back in the edge of the arm chair and placed her hands over her knees.

"Archi—, sorry. Mr. Eaton has always liked his art."

"Don't you feel sometimes it's unfair? All that money being spent on paintings and oversized metallic balloon dogs?"

"It's his money" the answer was short and abrupt. Stephanie watched her as she stood up and walked over to one of the sculptures in a corner. The rusted steel sheets formed a box with missing pieces, like a three dimensional puzzle that hadn't been finished. "The artist calls himself a sculptor of space." Her fingertips run over the edge of a side. "A devoid sculpture." She turned around to face Stephanie "I consider myself privileged being able to live around them."

The windscreen wipers fought the falling rain, Stephanie followed with her finger a trail of water in the passengers window. She was exhausted, three hours of interviews had only covered five of Archibald's employees and she didn't have a clue who could have done it. She turned to look at him. He drove with both hands in the wheel, she never noticed before how big they were. His expression was serious, deep in concentration trying to make out the road in the heavy rain. She shifted in her seat to look at him better. The first button on his shirt was open, the tie loose leaving more skin exposed. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, her breathing was deep and steady.

She shifted on her sit again. What was she thinking? The man was nothing but a pig. She had found him talking very closely with one of the maids, the girl couldn't have been a day over twenty. His hand had been on her hip as he whispered into her ear. Some stupid pick up line, there was no doubt about that. The high pitched laugh had stirred something inside Stephanie. A strange sensation had grabbed her stomach and made the heat rush to her cheeks. It was probably the embarrassment of finding her boss in such intimate situation. She had left without asking him if she should ask directly about the little figure. She had done it anyway. Everyone said they recognised it, it was a focal point in the room. She had questioned them about how much they thought it was worth, the answers had all been in the lines of 'If Archibald owns it, it must be expensive'. Not much help.

"Have you worked out who did it?"

His question startled her. She shook her head and gave a quiet "No".

"Guess"

"Margaret?" Her mouth pronounced the first name that had come to her mind. Margaret was a lovely woman, had been working fifty-three years for the family, since she was twelve. Her whole life had been devoted to them, never married, no children, her life revolved around the house. They had talked for more than an hour and finished the pot of coffee Margaret had prepared, anecdotes about Archibald's possessions and how difficult some of them were to clean had dominated the conversation.

"Why?"

"I... I don't know." She didn't even know why she had said her name, it had felt like betraying a friend. She was the most unlikely person to do it, maybe that was the reason.

Paul diverted his eyes from the road to look at Stephanie, by the look on her face he would bet that this infatuation with playing detectives would have worn off by tomorrow.

"Think."

Stephanie felt like being questioned by the school headmaster in fourth grade, it had been the first and last time she had gone to his office, up to that moment she had never been so scared, she hadn't known why she was there and he had spoken that same word.

"She wants to retire?"

"Bit of a strange way of handing your notice"

Her chest lifted with a deep breath. Why? Why would someone like Margaret steal something of unimaginable value? Stephanie tried to reason her answer.

"She's tired of working, she has been decades around all these unique items, taking care of them, making sure they were displayed to their best advantage and she has had enough. Never got more than her stingy salary, she saw the opportunity to retire to somewhere nice, like Florida or realise her dream of living in Italy. Imagine after a life of service not having to worry about money and be able to enjoy yourself."

"And your proof is...?"

Her arms crossed under her chest. This was meant to be guessing, she had no proof and he knew it.

"Is it necessary?"

Paul glanced at her and flashed a smile. He didn't want to be too hard on her but this was what she had signed up for.

"It helps when you accuse someone."

The rain had stopped, outside her window the lights of the city getting closer.

"It was just a theory."

"Have you got any more?"

She did. Mark could have used the money to start a new life. Sarah to help her family. Peter... Maybe he didn't have such a strong motive, but who could walk away from the possibility of getting a small fortune. It was probably Paul's girlfriend, apparently she was French and she always had had the feeling you couldn't trust the French. But she wouldn't suggest her, he would volunteer to question her in depth, to the core until she tipped over the edge.

"Why are you helping him?" Stephanie couldn't understand why he had taken this case but not Charlotte's.

His first answer would have been because he's being paid, but what intrigued him was the reason Stephanie thought he shouldn't.

"Why not?"

"Because it doesn't belong to him to start with"

"It's just a replica"

Stephanie snorted at his answer, how could he be so cynical?

"We both know that's not true."

Paul followed her directions and pulled up outside the block of flats. His hands fell from the steering wheel and he handed her the keys.

"Who steals from a thief is still a thief."

She hadn't noticed he'd exited the car until her door was held open. She didn't like the idea of working for Archibald Eaton or the possibility of one of his employees losing their job. He wouldn't have missed the unyielding bird and it would have changed those people's life for the better. To be honest, she didn't blame whoever did it.

"And you will find him or you will go back to the office full time."

Stephanie wanted to tell him to get lost, but she was doing this for Charlotte, so she grabbed his outstretched hand and held onto his arm until they reached the double glass doors. Her hand unwrapped from his bicep, it wasn't an optical illusion, his arm was huge, the muscle had felt hard and strong as he helped her walk. She took off her heels, the skin on the outside of her left ankle was turning purple, she should sue, that gravel was lethal.

She pushed the door open and turned around before stepping in, her heels hanging from one hand the other brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. The marble floor felt like ice, her injured foot rubbed the back of her leg. Paul stood a couple of steps away, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his eyes discovering a new interest in the names on the intercom.

"Thank you."

He rocked forward on his feet and lift his shoulders in a shrug.

"No problem."

Stephanie wanted to say something, but she wasn't sure what, so she just nodded her head. Her smile turned into a grin when she entered the building after saying her farewell.

"Goodnight Dick"


End file.
